


Waisting Water

by ArtHistory



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Anal Fingering, Anal Sex, Fatlock, M/M, Teasing, Weight Gain
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-03-29
Updated: 2018-03-29
Packaged: 2019-04-13 13:34:45
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 992
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14113458
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ArtHistory/pseuds/ArtHistory
Summary: Sherlock realizes he and his lover have gotten fat.John has been waiting fucking ages for him to do so...





	Waisting Water

**Author's Note:**

> For my best friend!! I love you!!! Here is some kink.

Ivory fingers, now looking more like sweet, freshly made sponge cake, folded beneath a second chin. Lady fingers. That was what the dessert was called, but he would have calle them plump little sausages. 

Sherlock Holmes pinched the excess skin beneath his once-glass-cutting jawline. He felt it wobble, felt his once angular, dramatic face squish beneath his touch as he prodded it. He sat, naked, at the edge of his King-sized bed. The 1,000 thread-count, satin sheets kissing his expanded ass as it bulged out beneath him. His cock was obscured to him, a massive gut blooming out onto his thick, creamy thighs.

He was fat.

He hadn’t been fat just a few months ago.

What had happened?

What could have-

“Sherlly? Come on, now, don’t waste hot water.” A low, teasing voice called from across the room.

Sherlock looked up.

Captain John Hamish Watson was taking up the entirety of the doorframe. When he’d moved in, the sandy-haired man had been nothing but strict diets and long jogs. Now? Now it looked like that John Watson had been eaten three-times over His gold-dusted, caramel gut rose like a mountain out before him, wide hips tenderly kissing each side of the doorframe to the bathroom. Two warm, round breasts rested atop his bloated gut, Sherlock’s eyes tracing up the man’s thick neck to his handsome face. It was as if John was meant to, destined to look this way.

“Coming?” John purred, smiled, his chubby cheeks crinkling around his eyes.

Sherlock was up in an instant.

Their shared bathroom was decadent. Heated floors, a walk in shower. All John’s idea. The man had...excellent taste.

Suddenly his soft hand was being gripped, tugged, pulled towards the warm steam of the three, hot jets that sprayed from the shower’s walls.

“There now, isn’t that lovely?” John said, his voice a honeyed whisper, his hands gliding over Sherlock's love handles, white and tan flesh becoming slicked from the hot water.

“We’re fat.” Sherlock breathed, his stomach wobbling against John’s clever, pudgy fingers. John cocked an eyebrow.

“Just catching onto that now, London’s Finest Detective?” John teased, squeezing Sherlock’s love handles decadently, their gut snogging fiercely as John squashed himself into the taller man, his lips finding Sherlock’s neck. Kissing. Nibbling. 

Tasting.

Sherlock cried out, arching his back, his massive form only quivering further against John’s gargantuan gut. He showed his neck further, curls flattening under the hot spring, ebony curls splaying out against ivory skin. 

John slid his hand there, tugging at the detective’s hair, spinning him round and chomping onto Sherlock’s padded shoulder.

“But...but how did we-”

“Greg Lestrade.” John replied, without hesitation. His fingers slid to Sherlock’s wide, fat arse, spreading the twin moons he found there, jiggling them teasingly tracing the walls that lead to Sherlock’s hole.

“G-Greg?!” He gasped, bracing himself against the way, gut and tits squashing into it, warm spray running down the back of his neck, tracing through the rolls of his back.

“He just wouldn’t stop asking me to pubs. Bringing me doughnuts on scenes. Think he wanted a fat mate. And by god did he get one” John panted, slowly beginning his sensual work, Sherlock gasping at those clever, clever fingers, whimpering as they moved achingly slow.

“I was pot bellied before I could even think to stop refusing the pints he bought. The breakfast sandwiches. The bacon butties. ‘Fried fresh!’ He’d always tell me, wiping grease down his own, too-tight button down. I never thought I’d look like him. Like a big, fat, lazy bloke. Like someone who never ran a mile in their life.” John growled, nipping as Sherlock’s shoulders further, giving his fat ass a harsh *SLAP*

“But gods, once I put on twenty, thirty, forty pounds. The way you looked at me.” He breathed, his massive gut bulging into the small of Sherlock’s back, grunting as he slowly, slowly began to work his lover open.

“I stopped wearing a shirt about the flat. Oh you were wild, bug-eyed. Believing I was just hot? In the middle of March? Come now, Sherlly. You know better.” He teased, kissing the man’s shoulders as Sherlock let out a shuddering groan.  
“Then it was more doughnuts. Cakes. Pie. Mrs. Hudson’s treacle tarts. She’s been wanting to fatten us up for years. She was more than happy to supply.” John was panting now, desperate, wild with arousal. His pupils blown wide, cheeks red, chest heaving as his breath came in huffs and puffs.

He slid his fingers out now, lining himself up.

Sherlock nodded.

A gasp, a groan. A building, rolling rhythm.

“And then, oh then my love.” John grunted, fucking his lover faster now, hands gripping hard on the detective’s love handles.

“You got hungry. You stared at my dinners. My desserts. The way I had to Greg the night he’d first asked me to the pub. The night I’d eaten so much I thought I’d burst. Then night he’d rubbed my gut, and I realized what i great, greedy hog I wanted to be. I saw it in you, Sherlly. I saw it and I fed it. I coaxed it out from that hidden place of your mind, and now! Now you’re just bloody realizing we’re two whales! Two pigs! Two squealing, fucking-”

John came with a desperate, silent cry. His hands grabbed wildly at every inch of Sherlock he could find, his gut slapping against the man’s wobbling back as Sherlock himself cried out John’s name.

They sunk to sitting, both watching mindlessly as the warm water swirled to the drain, guts blorping outwards into their laps.

John looked to Sherlock. Sherlock looked to John.

They smiled.

Sherlock lifted his hands to his belly, grabbing a meaty handful and giving the towering mountain of ivory lard a wobble.

“Breakfast? I think we ought to invite Lestrade over…for doughnuts.”

John’s pupils blew wide.

Oh yes.

That was a very good idea.


End file.
